She lied. Ann Veronica had had some training at the Tredgold College in disentangling threads from confused statements, and she had a curious persuasion that in all this fluent muddle there was something—something real, something that signified. A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind. ” “I can’t go back to the Beck’s ever again. I too can see it.
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